Niall was hard put not to become sick when he found his wife, half-delirious with fever, on the floor in a tiny room. She lay on a filthy pallet, the stink of the unemptied chamber pot permeating the room. Even little Polly, raised in the same degree of poverty, gasped with shock.

“ ‘Er ‘ull be no good to ye,” cackled the old crone who owned the house, “unless o’ course ye likes to swive ‘em when they ‘alf dead.”

“Close your trap, old hag,” snapped Polly. “We’re taking the lady out of here.”

“Lady, is it? Lady?” screeched the old woman. “She owes me for rent, that one.”

“Where is the man who was with her?” asked Niall.

‘”Andsome ‘Any? ‘E ain’t been around since she got ill. Got ‘imself a newer, younger doxy.”

“How much rent is owed?”

The old woman eyed Lord Burke craftily. “A shilling,” she said. The Irishman reached for his purse, but Polly intervened. “You wouldn’t get a shilling for this room in two years’ time, old hag,” she declared, outraged. “Give her no more than two silver pennies, my lord.”

Instead Niall Burke pulled a half-crown from his purse and handed it to the woman, whose eyes bugged with greed and shock. “This woman was never here, and neither were we,” he said quietly. The landlady snatched the coin, bit it, and stuffed it into her apron pocket. “I ain’t never seen any o’ yese,” she declared, quickly disappearing from the room.

Niall and Polly got Constanza to her feet. “You’ll ride with her, lass, and I’ll lead the horse,” he said, thankful for the rainy dark night that would cover their return to the Strand._Niall Burke had long ago tired of feeding the gossip mills of Court. When they finally reached the Burke house the servants had all retired excepting one sleepy stable boy who took the horse off to its stall. Lord Burke carried his unconscious wife up to her rooms, where he and Polly stripped the filthy garments off her thin body. Niall then filled the small oak tub with warm water he and Polly lugged up from the kitchens themselves. They washed her, including her matted, liceridden hair. Constanza, half conscious, protested weakly. They hauled her from the tub, toweled her off, put a clean gown on her, and plaited her dried hair into two braids. She was finally tucked into bed.

Back down in the kitchens of the house, Lord Burke emptied the little tub and sat down at the table. Polly rummaged about in the larder and found half a roasted capon. She put it on a wooden trencher with some bread and placed it before her master. She then poured him a goblet of brown October ale, and stood back. But Niall motioned her into the bench opposite him. Tearing off part of the capon breast, he shoved the meat toward her. “Eat up, lass! You’ve worked hard this night. And pour yourself some ale too.” Shyly, Polly obeyed him, somewhat astounded. “Thank you, my lord.”

“That was a kind thing you did, lass. I might never have found my wife without your help. She’s a very sick woman, Polly. Sick in spirit and body.”

“I never thought a lady would act that way, begging your pardon, my lord.”

He smiled. A curiously innocent little sparrow was Polly. He could have shocked her with tales of great Court ladies all over Europe who whored for one reason or another. “Polly, you seem a bright lass. I’m going to offer you a chance to better yourself, but it will not be easy. I need someone to look after my lady. She can never again be left alone. If I am not with her then someone else must be. She is ill now, but when she gets well she’ll try and cozen you, but you mustn’t let her. Do you think you can do it?” “Aye, my lord. But there’s one thing you should know. Harry was sometimes my lover too and once when my lady caught us, she… she… “ Polly’s face was beet red. “She joined us,” the servant finished with a rush. “I know I can care for her, but I wanted you to know that.”

Niall choked on his ale. Constanza had certainly been inventive. “Part of caring for Lady Burke will be telling those who ask that she is not strong in mind, Polly.”

“I understand, sir.”

So he had hired Mrs. Tubbs to keep watch by night, and young Polly cared for Constanza during the day. The first doctor engaged was told only that Lady Burke had been abducted and the experience had unhinged her mind. He cupped and bled her, which only weakened her further. Niall sent the physician on his way and brought in a second doctor, this one recommended by Lord Southwood. The man turned out to be a knowledgeable Moor. He examined Constanza thoroughly, stopping to make notes, clucking sympathetically. At last he went with Lord Burke to a private room. “My lord, your wife is a very sick woman, emotionally and physically. She will need a special diet, rest, sunshine, and medication.” He paused a moment as if weighing something. Then he asked, “Do you have the pox, my lord?”

“God, no!”

“Your wife does.” It was said flatly. “One of the worst cases I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not surprised,” Niall said quietly. “You see, Doctor, my wife is indeed ill. She is a woman for whom one lover is simply not enough. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“I do, my lord, and I am sorry. I have heard of such cases. I can treat her symptoms, but unless you can prevent her folly, she will kill herself. Frankly, I am not sure it is not already too late.”

Niall sought his study. He lit no candles but sat quietly by the dancing fire. Well, Father, he thought, / shall not be bringing this wife home to Ireland yet.

Dr. Hamid returned the next day.

“Good evening, Doctor,” Niall greeted him.

“My lord.”

“Come see me after you have examined Constanza.”

“Very well, my lord.”

Niall sighed. He remained in thought for some time and men became aware that he was not alone.

“My lord?”

“Oh, Doctor. Come into my study and sit down, man. How is Constanza?”

“A bit stronger, but not as well as I hoped for, my lord.”

“Could she travel?”

“Ireland? It would kill her.”

“No, Doctor Hamid. Mallorca. She had expressed a desire to go home. If it is possible, I would grant her wish.”

“The sun would be very good for her, my lord, but she is not yet strong enough for the trip.”

“In a few weeks?”

“It is possible. Yes! In fact, if she knows she is going it will improve her attitude greatly.”

“Then I shall tell her. In the meantime I will go home to Ireland to see my father. I have been gone over four years.” Niall Burke was on his way home within three days, riding across the verdant stretch of England that brought him to its westernmost port, where he quickly found a ship bound for Ireland. The first sight of his beloved homeland, the softly undulating green hills, the dramatic, cloud-tossed skies peculiar to Ireland alone, combined with his lengthy absence brought tears to Niall’s eyes. But once the ship had docked and he was on a horse once more, sentiment gave way to sheer eagerness to reach the MacWilliam’s stronghold. He was stunned to find his family expecting him, and wondered how in the world they’d known of his coming. As he approached his home, he saw a figure riding out to meet him, and his heart caught when he recognized his father. The old man had grown thinner and was even frail, Niall noted as his father came closer. But he had not lost any of his fabled authority or proud bearing.

“So you let the O’Malley escape again, and she’s already spawned a son for her new lord,” was his father’s greeting. It was if Niall had never been away.

“I have a wife now,” he reminded his father, more than a little defensive.

“Another barren field upon which your seed lays fallow. Where is she?”

“I left her in London. She is ill.”

“Humph! I might have guessed as much.”

“Father, I cannot stay. I came because I wanted to see you. Our climate is killing Constanza and because Ireland is no better I am taking her home to Mallorca.”

“Better you bring her here to Ireland to die. Then we can rewed you to a strong Irish girl who’ll give me grandsons. Foreign wenches transplant badly in Irish soil.”

“She will probably die anyway, Father. She misses the sun, and I would have her last days be happy.”

“In that case I’ll see which maidens of good family are available for marriage. Or perhaps a young widow with sons…” the older man mused.

“Make me no matches, Father!”

“I want my grandchildren about me before I die!”

And so it went between them for the few days of Niall’s visit. On the day of his departure Seamus O’Malley, the Bishop of Connaught, arrived with his two great-nephews, Ewan and Murrough O’FIaherty, requesting that Niall escort them to their mother in England. Though the children would slow him down, Niall agreed. He was pleasantly surprised when Seamus O’Malley offered an O’Malley vessel to take them directly to Devon.

“Is my niece happy?” asked the bishop.

“She claims to be,” said Niall sourly, “but then, women are apt to be fickle.”

Seamus O’Malley hid a smile. “You must learn to accept God’s will, my son,” he murmured piously.

Niall Burke bit back the urge to tell the good bishop to go to Hell. “I shall endeavor to pray for patience,” he said with obvious insincerity, and Seamus O’Malley chuckled.

“Can you leave tomorrow, Niall? Skye writes that she is anxious to see these imps of hers. Poor Skye…” He trailed off. There were no words to express what the bishop thought about his niece’s tragedy. After a moment Niall said, “I can leave tomorrow, though I devoutly pray that this trip aboard an O’Malley vessel will not be as eventful as the last one was.”

Ewan and Murrough O’FIaherty proved easy to chaperone. Six and seven, the boys were anxious to see their mother, yet frightened of encountering a woman they barely remembered. This trip was their first away from Ireland, and despite their anxieties they were very excited.